I see my end every night, inside a well, its darkness enveloping anything and everything, trapping me like a drowning worm.

I resort to drinking rainwater with a clay cup, maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is my punishment. I was bored of everything on the surface, but that’s what I want most now, to have my boring, ordinary life back, to not have to live this terror that I’m living. It’s been so long. Too long. I can’t even remember my name anymore.

All I do now is write. I write about anything and everything that comes to mind with the mud at the bottom. The promises at the beginning fell through, and I’ve ended up as stagnant as the water.

After a while, I could see the sunlight strike the bottom of the well, even if it was barely noticeable. Even so, it was a light at the end of the tunnel, a reason to keep on going.

No matter how much I wanted to leave, the well always pulled me back, its cold embrace always tempting me.

I regret not valuing the life I had before… my perfectly boring, ordinary life.